| (no subject) |
[May. 26th, 2012|11:10 pm] |
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Max is doing better. Thank goodness. |
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| A Letter to Johnny Ding Dong - May 25, 2012 |
[May. 25th, 2012|11:39 pm] |
Dear Johnny Ding Dong,
I went to a concert in a park today. Sat under the crescent moon and listened to a man who calls his band Bon Iver sing in a falsetto about girls and love and other things I don't understand. I had a phone call from your Grandma Murray but missed it because I was grooving to the band covering "Who is it?" by Björk. She said, "Call Michael. Max is having some problems. Get on Skype. See if Max looks okay."
As soon as I got home I called. Had to call twice before your father picked up. He said, "Max is having some GI problems, a bit of blood in his stool." He says it's nothing big, says you're on formula now, something with whey protein in it. "For bodybuilding," I said. "Yeah. He's also taking that stuff, what's it called? It helps you retain water in the muscles?" "Creatine?" I asked, thinking for a moment he was serious. Your father laughed and said, "Yes, creatine." "Oh, you're joking," I said. Your Papa Roti Auntie is a swift one.
You've been spending some time at the hospital. You've not only got blood in your stool, but an infection that requires antibiotics. And you're probably allergic to something your mother is eating. Your father hates the hospital. On the phone, he tells me about a couple of women in the care of a toddler who repeatedly pissed on the floor beside his hospital bed, instead of in the bucket provided. And then his keepers walked through the puddles of urine. Apparently this happened several times. And then he told me about the older boy playing with his foreskin, stretching it out, over and over again. It is true that baby stories seem to revolve almost entirely around bodily functions.
The Internet tells me your condition is not abnormal. The doctors in charge of you aren't worried. And although that mitigates my worry a bit, it doesn't take it away entirely. I know how bad I feel when my tummy's upset and I hate to think of you feeling in any way like that. I hate to think of you bleeding from your innards. Every day I miss you more and a hundred times more today, thinking of you sick on the other side of the planet.
May your pain subside, sweet Max.
Love,
Auntie Sarah aka Papa Roti Auntie |
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| All the little angels |
[May. 25th, 2012|05:06 am] |
How do they rise?
We again present our annual dose of lilac-related silliness.
"[He] who finds himself in a City where a tumult has arisen, ought to present himself there with as much grace and as honorably as he can, attiring himself with the insignia of his rank which he holds."
-- Machiavelli, Discourses on Livy |
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